1

I listened intently for any sign of approaching vehicles, a far-off honk.

Nothing.

Blinking my eyes, I tried to register the picture of the crossing. The curtain of darkness refused to be lifted.

Sighing, I set my left foot, carefully on the road.

But before I could take the next step, a strong hand held mine, jerking me back, as a car whizzed past me in a breakneck speed.

"What the hell do you think you are doing," the voice began indignantly, but stopped short.

"I'm so sorry," the manly voice whispered.

"It's okay," I forced a smile on my face, "I was careless. You protected my worthless life."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Never ever say that," there was an authority in his voice, "Every individual matters. Every life is unique."

"For heaven's sake, I'm tired of hearing this from everyone," I snapped, "Why can't anyone just let me mope in peace? You don't know mister how miserable my life is."

"How did it happen?"

I froze.

Since the day it happened, no one but my doctor had asked the reason. Others only offered verbal sympathy, which had no meaning for me whatsoever.

Who was this stranger, who was interested to know about me?

"W...Why do you want to know?"

"Because I may be able to help you."

"Huh! Are you God?"

"No, I'm a doctor."

"Then you should know 'Mister Doctor' that I need a corneal transplant. There are no corneas available at the moment. Those that are given, are often too late to be transplanted," I replied.

"I know the situation," he sighed, "One should always keep a will signed for corneal donation at one's death. This can save the time taken to convince the relatives of the deceased. After all there is only a 24-hour window of opportunity from the time of donor's death to procure a cornea and place it in storage media. I already signed a will."

"You did? That's so noble of you. I wish I could see who you are," I blinked back the rapidly forming tears in my eyes.

"I believe you wouldn't like me so much. I'm not like those handsome film actor types. I'm an ordinary man, 24 years of age, flat nose, dark hair and eyes," he chuckled.

"Makes me want to see you as soon as I get back my sight," I smiled through tears.

"We totally shouldn't talk in the middle of the road. Mind if we go for a coffee?"

"You're taking me out on a date, Doctor?"

The warmth of his laughter reached right to my heart, making it flutter, "I'd take you on a real date someday, Miss. I'm a penniless now, only a few bucks to spend on a latte."

2

"So," he said, once we were seated, "this condition must not be congenital, or else you'd have gotten an transplant by now."

"No, my vision was getting weaker. I was supposed to consult a doctor. But you know, when you stay at an orphanage, and work as a waitress, you hardly get time for yourself. On that fateful day, when I opened my eyes in the morning, at first I thought it was still night and a power-cut. But soon my illusion was broken," I narrated.

"Hmm, then it must be due to Vitamin A deficiency, opaqueness of cornea resulting from severe xerophthalmia. Not impossible, seeing the condition of most orphanages," he assessed.

"My Ma'am took me to the doctor, who confirmed the same. He had agreed to perform the corneal graft for free, but there has been lack of any donations for almost a year now."

"I'll try to use my contacts," he offered," Maybe my friends in other cities could help."

"You know, six more kids are waiting too. They're missing out the best years of childhood," I sighed.

"Yes, a cornea can be successfully cut and implanted in six individuals."

"And now I'm jobless, and will be homeless as I turn 18, in a month. The orphanage will not take any responsibility of me anymore."

"You can always come to stay at my apartment," he spoke immediately, only to realise what he had just said.

"Aaaaa, I mean, I can give you a room in my flat," he explained.

"No, I don't want pity," I said.

"That's not what..."

"And besides," I interrupted, "I got enough sympathy. I want somebody to hold my hand, to be the guiding light in my world of darkness. I want somebody to be a pillar, and support me, than offer me kind words and drive me into self-pity."

"Can I be that one to hold your hand?"

A pair of rough, calloused hands gently took mine from across the table.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, "I would be honoured, Mister..."

"Dylan, you can call me Dylan."

"Summer. Nice to get to know a man like you, Doc."

"Fine, then I'll go and try to arrange for corneal grafts for you and the children," with these words he paid the bill, and left.

The sweet lavender perfume lingered behind for a while as I sat for a long time trying to form pictures of him in my mind's eye.

And amidst all these, I realised something. For the first time, I was falling in love.

3

I opened my eyes at the phone ringing at my bedside. I groped for the receiver and put it to my ear. I had expected it to be Dylan. His voice had soothed my every morning from that day.

"Hello," the cheery voice of Doctor Sanger at the other end was heard.

"Oh! Hi Doc."

"There's a good news. We got a cornea, and I will get your surgery done. Even Judy, Lily, Carl, Mark and Chris are getting grafts too."

"Oh! What about Kayla?"

"I'm afraid she has to wait for the next. The man had a will for cornea donation, so the process was fast."

"What happened to him?"

"Road traffic accident, severe hemorrhage, brain death. We tried our best but..."

"Fate, destiny...by the way, what was his name?"

"Dylan Walter."

The whole world came crashing down as the receiver dropped from my hand.

The phone kept buzzing for a while, before I picked it up.

"Doc, I feel sorry for Kayla, could you please give the cornea to her instead? I would wait for the next time."

"You sure?"

"Yes," I knew in my heart that there wouldn't be a next time.

4

I was standing on the rocks at the sea coast.

My mind was a jumble of emotions. I had refused the graft.

I didn't want to see a world where Dylan didn't exist.

I tried to imagine him once more and then I put a step forward.

One more step would plunge me right into the sea, where the waves would simply dash me against the rocks.

As I lifted my leg, I felt someone holding me back.

I flipped around and tried to grasp that one hand I had recognized.

My hands cut through air.

"Dylan..." I screamed.

"I had promised, to hold your hand always," a voice seemed to whisper into my ear, "And I don't break promises."

1200 words completed....

A/N Thanks to everyone for reading. I want your opinion on this story. It's a first time for me. And I am writing it for the #justwriteit prompts.

Thanks Pipigrin for always supporting me. KashishBelikov
For being the best friend ever... And MaryFahey my mentor and guide.